


I Was Weak, I Was Awake

by orphan_account



Series: Pay For His Behavior [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, M/M, Martial Arts AU, Masochism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Sadism, Spit As Lube, boxing au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex gets the shit kicked out of him and he likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Weak, I Was Awake

**Author's Note:**

> *lafayette voice* ze worst
> 
> honestly if you're the kind of person who clicked this fic you probably don't have that many issues with violence, but just in case, don't read this if erotic violence or painplay isn't your deal/triggers you

From that night on, they enter into a sort of affair. Washington is still terrifying when they fight, absolutely, but most of the time, when they aren’t on the mats, he’s more easy-going. It seems like he likes it when Alexander is confident, when he’s calm, when he makes jokes and teases Washington. They still bang every once in a while, but it’s pretty vanilla – the kinkiest they get is Alex in panties, and even this doesn’t burn in his gut like “slutty little girl” did. They never fall back into the tension, fear, and fucking blazing heat of that one night.

Alex doesn’t think they’re dating, he doesn’t think Washington really likes him – not that way anyway. He’s fairly convinced the violence was a one-time thing, Washington had some urge, some need to use him, to get out some tension, and it passed and Washington’s a pretty vanilla dude normally.

And he’s okay with that, really, really he is, he swears. Except it seems like every fucking night he’s sticking his hand down his shorts, thinking about Washington’s voice. ~ _Did I ask you to_ fucking _speak. ~ Slut ~ Ask me, baby girl, or I’ll keep hurting you. ~ Nice girls don’t let men fuck their asses. ~ Don’t swallow till I leave. ~_ And every night he comes, hard, thinking about Washington’s eyes dark and angry in a flat, expressionless face, and he feels so fucking guilty about it all.

Alexander has a pretty easy relationship with sex. He never really feels wrong about it. He’s not repressed. He knows what he likes and he’s pretty much okay with all of it. And yet something about the way Washington had treated him had made him burn with shame. And he fucking loved it.

But it hasn’t happened again.

Alex tells himself over and over that he isn’t going to ask, he isn’t going to give Washington cause to think that he wants it, he’s going to be normal and chill and not make it a thing. He’s not gonna be a little shit, he’s gonna stop wanting it so desperately all the time.

Except, well, he is who he is. He’s not great at letting shit lie.

So Washington is teaching a class that Alex is in – that’s another thing, the age gap, the wrongness of Washington being twenty fucking years older than him, _goddamn_ – and it’s a sparring class. Alex is paired off with some dumbfuck kid who can’t hold his own against a ten year old, much less Alexander, and he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly when Washington announces his partner’s name.

“Alexander,” Washington’s voice is booming, calling Alex out in front of the whole class. “Do you have something to say?”

Fifteen heads whip around towards Alex. His stomach clenches. Adrenaline shoots like fire through him. He smiles.

It’s the respect thing, Alex realizes abruptly. Washington doesn’t mind teasing, doesn’t mind jokes or humor or screwing around – it’s when Alexander is disrespectful that he loses it.

Good to know.

“Yeah, actually,” he replies, raising one eyebrow. “You want me paired off with Charlie? I’m gonna wipe the floor with him. Why don’t _you_ come fight me?”

He sees the momentary war that takes place on Washington’s face. Force him to fight Charlie, take a responsible position on things, and show students they can’t question him, or ( _please,_ Alex thinks _, please_ ) take Alex in the back and show him what he can do with his challenges.

“Sure,” Washington says, voice casual, eyes deadly, and Alexander’s heart leaps.

The dojo is divided up into three training rooms, a lobby, and an office, plus bathrooms and changing rooms. The class is in the main room, the biggest room. Washington takes Alexander into the biggest side room, leaves the door open and turns on all the lights. There are big glass windows dividing the main room and the private rooms, and the entire class can see through the windows. Alex catches a glimpse of fifteen pale faces out of the corner of his eyes as Washington guides him bodily into the room. There’s nothing more than the illusion of privacy, and Alex is entirely at Washington’s mercy.

He shouldn’t _like_ it so much.

“Really?” Washington says, standing too close to Alexander, staring down at him, “You think you can fuck with me? After what I did to you? You think I won’t do worse?” His voice is low enough that Alexander is reasonably sure it can’t be heard from the main room, but, fuck, he isn’t sure, he can’t be sure, and he’s positive every ear is tuned on the two of them.

“I can’t believe you’d pair me off with Charlie Lee. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were joking.” He says this loud enough that he’s sure they can hear him from the other room. He desperately wants to be put in his place, and he’s gonna do whatever the fuck he needs to in order to get Washington to do it.

Washington, who isn’t much of a one for words, Alex is finding, punches him in the stomach. It’s hard, not the hardest he’s ever been hit, but hard enough to cut him off for a moment, to stop him talking, and hard enough to push him backward a few steps. He grunts, loudly.

He hears someone gasp from the next room.

The dojo at large doesn’t really hit each other that hard. Control is a big part of what they practice. There are other people besides Washington who will fight Alexander pretty hard, but only a few. Mostly, the standing rule is anything more than a tap is grounds for a warning, and on repeated offense, dismissal.

He can imagine how it looks, hulking gigantic Washington standing over him, hitting him, all the controlled power of his huge body, can imagine himself stumbling backward with the pain of the strike. He wishes he could see it. He’s fucking embarrassed everyone else is.

Still, who is he is if not a self-destructive asshole with masochistic tendencies?

“That all you got? Maybe I _should_ go spar Charlie.”

Washington hits him again, across the face this time, and again, and again, five consecutive blows over his face and torso, leaving him disoriented and confused. Familiar arousal burns in his stomach at the pain, he feels it spread warm and tingling over his whole body and he feels _alive_ , alive knowing everyone is watching, everyone is watching him get beat into the mats, listening to him grunt in pain every time Washington hits him, and he’s burning with shame, but it’s fucking wonderful.

God, he’s wanted this. 

Washington catches him wrong-footed, sweeps him down onto the ground and lands on top of him, and Alex just sort of goes, lets it happen, lets Washington settle his weight across Alex’s back, pin his legs. Washington buries one hand in Alexander’s hair, digs his nails into his scalp, and then _pulls_ , hard, lifts Alexander’s head off the ground. He strains against the tension, feels tears come to his eyes.

Washington grinds down against him, feels his hard-on and smirks. “Stop getting off on this.”

Alex moans, tries to keep it quiet, because fuck, everyone is watching – he turns his head slightly, feeling the hand in his hair wrench as he moves, and sees all the pale white faces of the class staring at the two of them where he lies on the ground, being ravaged.

“Yeah,” Washington murmurs, quietly enough to be inaudible in the next room (hopefully), “They’re all watching, Alexander. You gonna start acting all slutty and desperate while the whole class is watching? You’ll hardly keep their respect if they know that you’re just so goddamn desperate to get fucked that you can’t think of anything else.”

Washington lets go his hair, hits him open handed across the face again – to keep up appearances maybe. Alex keens. Washington grinds down again, fucks his huge hips down over Alex’s. He’s viscerally reminded how huge Washington is, how huge his dick is, and he is almost whining. He desperately hopes it sounds like it’s because he’s hurt.

“You’re bleeding.” Washington says, voice slightly louder than it has been. “You’re a wreck. Go clean yourself up.” He shifts his weight off of Alexander, stands easily, stands over him, studies him with eyes dark and emotionless.

Alex pinches his nose with one hand, tilts his head up (he can never remember if it’s better to tilt up or down, can never tell if it matters one way or the other), and says, “Take care of myself, so to speak.” He smiles a shit-eating grin, tasting copper and salt, not letting his meaning be mistaken.

Washington shakes his head. “Stop the bleeding. Nothing else.”

He stays sitting on the floor, one hand pinching his bloody nose, the other cupped underneath it to prevent any blood from spilling onto the floor. With his luck, and Washington’s whole thing, he’d probably have to lick it up if it dripped. (Fuck. He has to stop thinking these things. It’s like he finds new awful degrading things to get off on every hour.) He watches while Washington takes control back of the classroom, watches the fear in everyone’s faces, and thinks vaguely that they aren’t ever gonna know what it’s really like to face Washington, to take the full force of his strength.

Then he forces himself off the ground and stumbles to the bathroom, keeping himself turned to hide his hard-on from the class.

***

He doesn’t jack off. He tries to, to be a little shit, but Washington said no, Washington said no in front of God and everybody, and when his hand reaches his dick, he feels a sharp pang of guilt and self-disgust, and most surprising of all, a desire to be good. He just can’t do it.

So he shoves a rolled up paper towel up his nose to stop up the blood and waits in the bathroom, trying to think gross thoughts – Donald Trump winning the election, his ex-boyfriend Madison who had a weird foot thing (Not that Alex couldn’t be convinced to have a foot thing, it’s just that James was weird about his. Really weird.), that one job he had washing dishes for a French pastry chef and how fucking much he hates soggy bread. He pulls it together. When his rager has gone down and his nose has stopped bleeding, he splashes water on his face and reties his ponytail 

He stretches slowly, easily, feeling the spreading ache of being hit wind through his torso. Then he heads back into the classroom with his head down. Let them think Washington has made his point. He hasn’t, not yet, but Alexander has no doubt he will.

***

When the class ends, Alexander hangs out at the edge of the mats, nursing a Gatorade and watching the building clear out. After ten minutes, there are only a few students hanging around after, the dojo rats, Laurens, Lafayette, and Angelica Schuyler, and Alex fucks around in a corner of the room with Angelica for a while. She’s fast as all hell, sharp and angry and brilliant, and Alex likes sparring with her, although her elbows and knees always seem too sharp.

He’s on edge the entire time, thinking of Washington. Washington who had retreated into the office immediately when class ended instead of sticking around to talk to students, offer pointers, critiques, compliments like he usually does. Alex can feel his gut tight with anticipation and Angelica senses it too.

“What the fuck, man?” she snaps, after he lands a particularly hard cross into her gut. It wouldn’t have shaken someone bigger, but Angelica is one of only two or three people in the school smaller than he is, and she’s so skinny that punches hurt her more than other people. “What’s going on with you? You’re all over the place tonight.”

“I dunno,” Alexander mumbles, “Sorry.”

“What was that shit with Washington?” Angelica is actually his friend outside the dojo too, and normally he’d let her into the loop, but this feels… big, like something he shouldn’t bring up. It also feels secret, and Alexander would be lying if he doesn’t find that element hot.

“I just like seeing him all pissed, I guess.” He shrugs, throws a few slow punches, just to do it. She parries them easily and counters with a low kick, which he steps away from.

“What’s going on with you guys anyway? Y’all have the weirdest relationship.”

Alex shrugs again and slaps away one of her sharp elbows. “He’s a dick,” he says, “but I like him. I dunno really. It’s not a big thing.”

“He’s nice enough to me.” Angelica points out, and throws two kicks in fast succession off her left foot, one between his legs, the other at his head. He blocks the first, but the second glances off his guard and taps him. He’s glad for Angelica’s immaculate control.

“I think I piss him off.”

“You piss everyone off.”

He crouches down and shoots forward, wraps both arms around her waist and knocks her over. She shoulda sprawled her feet out behind her, gone down on top of him, but for all Angelica’s skill standing up, she’s a horrible grappler. He kneels over her, easily, feeling the momentary rush of finally being bigger than someone. She wriggles, bucks her hips up to throw him, but she really is an awful ground fighter, and it barely moves him.

He drops onto his forearms next to her shoulders, lying on top of her and sneers into her face.

“Do I piss _you_ off?”

She rolls her eyes, pushes him up with one hand. “Get the fuck off me.” It’s good natured though, and he helps her up once he’s standing.

They clasp arms, slap each other on the back. Angelica goes to get changed, and Alex hits a punching bag for a while, before he realizes he should be saving his strength. Instead, he goes and gets a sip of water and then plops down on the mats to stretch.

*** 

The building clears. Alexander calls goodbye from the mats to each of his friends as they head out, feeling the tension grow in his stomach as they go. Washington doesn’t say anything, even when Angelica calls, “Have a good weekend, sir!” before she walks out. Alex is almost sick with butterflies.

Washington leaves him waiting long enough that he’s beginning to think he should just head out, that he was wrong, that that was it. But just as he’s standing up, feeling both disappointed and relieved, Washington steps silently from the office and stands on the threshold of the dojo floor. Alexander looks up and startles at his appearance.

“Hey,” he says, pleased his voice doesn’t quaver. “How ya doin’?”

Washington starts walking toward him. Alexander backs up. He’s not hurrying, because he’s not exactly scared, but he relishes the adrenaline in his gut, the feeling that just maybe, this time, he’ll be the one who wins the fight, that Washington will break against his walls.

Washington is close, too close, and Alexander realizes it a half-second too late. So much can happen in a half-second. Alexander is slammed, hard against the mirror, feels his insides jolt around, gasps loudly as the air is pushed out of him. Washington pushes him against the wall with his shoulder against Alexander’s chest, and Alex drops a elbow onto the back of Washington’s neck, but it doesn’t mean anything because the air is being crushed out of him.

As fast as it happened, it stops happening. Washington takes one tiny step away and Alex wriggles as hard as he can – get the fuck out, get away, don’t let him pin you, you can still win, beat the shit out of him – hot bitter adrenaline pumping in his veins, catching up his throat – and then Washington punches him in the face.

He isn’t wearing gloves, and his knuckles are hard and heavy and Alex feels them dig into the flesh of his jaw, feels his jaw click out of place strangely – not quite worrying, he’s had dislocated jaws before and this isn’t it – and then the pain starts and he feels _alive_ and _burning_ and holy _fuck_ Alexander Hamilton needs to be fucked.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he growls, feeling his jaw click when he talks, trying to peel himself off the mirror. Washington kicks him in the side with his heel, and how is a man this fucking huge so flexible, so graceful? Alex processes his skill and beauty as he’s falling, almost starts laughing at his fucking useless mind, can’t stay focused on anything, even when he’s getting the shit beat out of him. 

Washington lands another perfect kick into Alex’s gut, comes down hard on top of him with his knee over Alex’s left rib cage and Alex starts laughing as he feels his bones creak with the strain.

“Why don’t you stop this? Why don’t you let me up, let me give you what you actually want, slut?” Alexander feels the danger of the words as he says them, the danger in telling a top that he’ll fuck him if he wants. “I gotta huge fucking dick, Georgey, I might let you suck it if you prove you deserve it. I know how bad you want it, I can see it in those slutty eyes.” He makes his voice deep (as much as he can, what with his lungs being crushed), acts like he’s got some weight to throw around.

Washington hits him again, open-handed now, over the spot he’s just punched. It’s not a cute slap. It’s not funny. Alex’s head rocks sideways, and his whole face burns and he screams.

Heat spreads out from the slap, burning, _burning_ , and from the bruises of Washington’s knuckles and he wants to cry, there’s so much tension in him. Washington won’t stop putting him in his place, and _God,_ Alex needs it. Fucking shit he needs it, needs the heat of his hand and the heat of his dick, needs to be told his place, not in words but in actions.

So, naturally, he does the only thing he knows gets Washington truly on edge. Disrespect.

“Ya know, man, there’s no shame in wanting dick. No shame in wanting my fat cock up your tight ass, man, after we pull the giant fucking stick out of it. It’s okay, I don’t mind, that stick up your ass was keepin’ it open for me, right, that’s why it’s there, so you’re all nice and open for Daddy, right, babe? No shame in that. No shame, man it’s –“

Washington slaps him from the other side this time (Alex feels his jaw click back into place), stands up a little and then drops most of his weight into a driving straight punch into Alex’s solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of him.

“Shut the fuck up.”

That’s it, that’s all he says, but he needn’t have spoken at all, because Alex can’t speak, can’t breathe, even, really, because Washington has literally taken his breath away. He’d laugh if he had air in his lungs.

Washington has his hand on his hips, picks him up and flips him over like a steak on a grill, manhandling that goes straight to Alex’s dick. He undoes Alex’s pants deftly, pulls them down with his boxers. His dick springs free, hard and aching and hot as fire. Washington grabs it, drags his hand down so roughly it hurts, relieves no tension. Alex tries to whimper, remembers his spasming diaphragm and instead feels the panicky feeling return.

Washington’s hands are on his bare ass cheeks, fingers digging in, splitting him open. Alex blushes hard, because he’s sweaty and gross from class and he usually does anal when he’s showered before, and fuck, Washington has to be staring right at his asshole, and he’s acting like it’s nothing.

And then he spits. A huge wet glob of saliva lands on Alex’s tight hole. He finds he can breathe again, groans low and loud.

“Fucking shit, dude, that’s fucking foul, fu –“

He’s cut off by Washington shoving two thick fingers up his ass, no prep, no buildup, and it burns, splits him like a fucking stake. Washington’s hands are _huge_ , big as the rest of him, and two of them together are almost too much to take. 

Washington slams his fingers all the way in to the knuckles on the first thrust. Alex cries out, wordless scream, and Washington fucks them out and then back in again, rough, punishing, abusing Alex’s hole. Alex is almost crying, not even feeling the hot prickling in the corners of his eyes compared to the burn of his ass.

He feels a third finger added to the hole, and it’s too much, it’s way too fucking much, he’s gonna have trouble shitting after this, and he should say something, but he doesn’t, he lets Washington do as he pleases. 

Washington fucks his hand in again and this time his fingers find Alex’s prostate. He’s so fucking oversensitive already, hasn’t even come yet, but the touch is enough to get him jerking like he’s been shocked, yelling curses again.

Washington holds out a hand, grunts “spit,” a command, and Alex doesn’t hesitate in filling his hand with his saliva. “More,” Washington says, and “this is all you’re getting.”

Alex spits twice more before the hand disappears. He can hear Washington’s deep moan as he slicks up his dick, and then he feels the wet head push into his ass.

He wasn’t wrong, the last time he saw Washington’s dick. It almost doesn’t fit inside him. Washington has to push, and Alex forces himself to relax, forces himself to take it, forces himself to let this happen. To his credit, Washington doesn’t fuck him as hard as he can right away. He lets the splitting happen slowly, lets Alex get accustomed to it.

Well, he lets Alex get accustomed to it for maybe thirty seconds. Then he pulls out all the way, spits again, right over Alexander’s asshole, and then he fucks him.

There’s no other word for it. Alex’s whole body rocks back and forth, almost knocked off his hands and knees by the force of the thrusts and he’s not crying, he has pride, but his throat feels raw and he might be screaming.

One of Washington’s hands is on Alex’s hip, the other wrapped in his hair, and there’s nothing soft about it, and Alex feels his thrusts become uneven, clamps his ass down around the giant dick inside of him. Washington growls, loosens the hand on Alex’s hip and squeezes Alex’s dick hard, strokes up and twists across the head. It _hurts_ , everything hurts.

Washington slams into him one more time, and it’s the feeling of Washington coming inside him, claiming him, filling him with his seed like Alex is some cheap whore, that makes him shoot. Filthy and hot and so hard he sees spiky black in the corners of his vision.

The first thing he notices when he comes back down is that the hand in his hair has gone soft. Washington is petting him, he realizes with a shock. It feels good. He lets himself fall onto the mats, lets himself relax into the petting.

“You okay?” Washington’s voice is easy, all harshness gone out of it.

“Yeah.” Alex’s, on the other hand, is rough and fucked out, and he blushes into the mats when he hears it. “I’m great.”

He rolls over, towards Washington and smiles up at him. Washington doesn’t say anything, but the hand in Alex’s hair tugs lightly.


End file.
